


A Golden Experience

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Master/Servant, Power Play, Season/Series 02, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:56:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written anonymously in reply to this prompt left in <a href="http://borgiaskink.livejournal.com/">The Borgias Kink Meme</a></p><p>Cesare/Micheletto, watersports</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Golden Experience

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: After that brotherly fight in 2X01

There were days in which Cesare was happy enough knowing Micheletto was his weapon to aim to whoever dared to look the Borgias with ill will. Some days that such reassurance was not enough, those were days in which Micheletto seemed to be something more than a well-honed weapon, almost like an independent human being instead of a well-trained pet. Those days, Cesare Borgia needed to reaffirm his authority over Micheletto.

Doing so with a person who obviously get his rocks done by pain was quite a challenge. Micheletto was a rare beast, above petty chastisements, and special measures had to been taken to make him understand who the master was. The challenge suited Cesare well, and he began his day with a smile as he sends an errand boy to fetch his unruly pet.

Cesare waited for him in his cardinal robe, seated at the breakfast table. Micheletto came to him with an inquisitive gaze, morning service was unusual in their relation; nevertheless, his whole person emits that need to please his master, notwithstanding the hour.

“Come, Micheletto,” Cesare said, pouring him a drink. “I need your special abilities today.”

One of the small wonders of the world was the fact that Micheletto was never drunk; he never debauched his time away. Cesare could call for him any hour of the day and he haul his ass to the Vatican with a reasonable presence, since it was summer, Micheletto was sporting his old doublet, the one with half sleeves, but his trousers where the same brown wool. Idly, Cesare wondered if he had another pair of trousers.

“Any time, Your Eminence,” Micheletto seemed grateful for the drink.

“Cardinal Sforza is to have visitors today, any moment now.”

“Sforzas...” Micheletto commented between sips.

“I need a report of this interview,” Cesare poured him a little more of wine, “Every single word is to be heard.”

“Sleazy bunch that Sforzas,” Micheletto agreed, drinking greedily, pleased because his master was being nice to him.

“Yes, and dangerous too.”

“I’ll see your interest would be well guarded, Your Eminence.”

“As you always do.”

Micheletto heed his sign to remove his presence, and Cesare felt the satisfaction of sending a falcon toward his prey.

 

***

“The Tiger left her lair,” Micheletto reported to a busy Cesare, “She's moving to Pesaro.”

“Christ’s sweet wounds!” Cesare felt the need to shout an even harder blasphemy, but his red robes weight him down to the ground.

“They talk about a letter.”

“Where is that letter?”

“Among Cardinal Sforza's correspondence, perhaps?”

Cesare rested his weight against his desk, pondering the implications of this travel and this letter while his henchman waited in his place. The cardinal idle hand darted toward a fruit plate and seize a pear which he promptly threw towards Micheletto with the casual ease with one's could throw a morsel to a cherished dog. The ginger man was always on guard he had no trouble to bend his knees and catch the fruit with his cupped hands. That sharing was not unusual, Micheletto crooked and eyebrow, his master nodded.

“Seize that letter, Micheletto,” Cesare ordered while he saw the messy way in which the fruit was consumed. “You will have time; the consistory is to meet today by midday.”

“The original?”

“A copy would be better. We don't want the Sforza to know we are at their tail.”

“That shall be done.”

“Make haste, Micheletto.”

***

“I have the paper, your Eminence,” Micheletto said, walking briskly to his side as he left the consistory room.

“Good. Keep it in your person, I have another errand to you,” Cesare placed a roll of parchment into his hand. “Send this to my mother, without delay. Report to me immediately after.”

Micheletto huffed by his side but he made his way among the red clothes.

***

A couple of hours later Micheletto made his appearance by Cesare's office, his shoulders drawn to his body, his tummy visibly tucked and a hand holding the strings of his codpiece. His discomfort was visible, but Cardinal Borgia made him wait out of his door, the control rush was making this whole day enjoyable.

“There was no response, Your Eminence,” Micheletto said when Cesare finally let him in.

“Good. Now, give me that paper.”

Micheletto produced a piece of paper from his doublet and placed it on the desk, then, as Cesare picked it up to read it, he made a courtesy and tried to flee the room.

“Where do you think you are going?”

“Nature's Call,” Micheletto said with candor, shrugging and returning to the front of the desk.

Such a small pleasure... Micheletto took it for granted, like any man in Rome.

“You are not allowed.”

The expression in his face was indescribable. To extract such expression from a gargoyle was a triumph and the power rush in his veins let him know he was in the right track.

“Then, I’m not, Your Eminence.”

Submission enhanced the thrill tenfold. Cesare approached Micheletto and rubbed his nape over the desk.

“See that accidents don't happen, my friend,” Cesare said, smiling to that shocked face, “I need your services the whole day and you don't want to make an appearance before the Holy Father in your piss-soaked trousers...”

“Accidents do happen, Your Eminence,” Micheletto said, the aftertaste of humiliation in his voice, “to boys and pets.”

“And you are no one of those.”

“No, Your Eminence.”

“I hold you to your word,” Cesare said, approaching his lips to Micheletto's ear, “while you hold another thing, I need you to send a document to Cardinal Piccolomini...”

Micheletto groaned. The wait to be received by Cardinal Piccolomini was legendary long and they both knew it.

***

Cesare tried to write a report for his father about the Sforzas's machinations, but Micheletto was giving him hard time; his desperation was leaking from him in small bouts of impatience as he loaf about the office, trying to distract his mind with the paintings or the window, but every time he stopped his mindless walks Cesare notice the struggle he put to will his knees from bending inwards, squirming in his place, clenching his cheeks, biting his lips...

Micheletto had not begged for mercy, not yet.

The quill was dipped into ink again, and each drop of the ink on the receptacle echoed as a shiver on Micheletto's back. It was painful to see, but also exhilaratingly funny. Torturing his assassin always was a child's joy to Cesare, like yanking the chain of a blood thirsty dog who loves the hand that feed him.

“Micheletto?”

“Your Eminence?”

“Fetch me a chamber pot.”

Before leaving the office, Micheletto's eyes darted towards him, barely a glimpse of hope in them, but his lips didn't parted to beg for his release.

Not yet.

***

Cesare sprang to his feet at the very moment Micheletto entered the office by the lateral door; while he was busy controlling his assassin's bladder, he failed to notice his own need up to this moment. To his signal, Micheletto placed the pot in the credenza and Cesare rushed to lift his red robe and his shirt. Damned paraphernalia! It always was too burdensome. It was then when a wicked idea crossed his mind, sending delicious shivers through his spine.

“Come here, Micheletto,” Cesare called, his hands holding the folds of his robes by the waist. “Take my cock and aim it for me.”  
  
To Micheletto's credit, this strange petition didn't spook him; Micheletto was no man to shirk from taking risk. He came forward and his fingers wrapped this flaccid member, averting his eyes once he was sure of the direction. Cesare relaxed and let the floodgate open, his gaze watching Micheletto's ordeal as the stream made noise against the pot. A barely contained whimper left his lips, his hand improved its grip, his body shook and oscillated on the ball of his heels, the corners of his mouth twitched. He was losing his control, but, strangely enough, that signals were also seen when pain wrecked his body.  
  
“Aroused?”  
  
“I wish,” Micheletto was shaking, communicating his tremors to Cesare’s dick. “All this mess would be easier.”  
  
“Really?” Cesare whispered as Micheletto shook the last drops.  
  
“It's nigh impossible to pee with a hard-on.”  
  
Micheletto withdrawn his hand and took a couple of steps back, his knees obviously weak, his crotch obviously in pain. He rubbed his palms in his thighs and Cesare let his robes fell.  
  
“You can't hold any longer.”  
  
“I do!” Micheletto answered, then swallowing a bit of his pride, corrected his statement: “Not sure.”  
  
“But a hard-on might come handy?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“So you can hold your water longer.”

All men seem vulnerable when they are in this state, but Micheletto make it double. Cesare closed the distance, his hands on the clothing clasps of his humble doublet; Micheletto gave another step backwards, panic glaring in his eyes.

“Your Eminence,” Micheletto tried to protest before his ass was struck against the desk.  
  
“Why are you holding it, Micheletto?”  
  
“Because you are my master,” swift hands rewarded that reply, “You command, I obey.”  
  
That candor was as arousing as his submission and Cesare felt his loins stirring, his hand freed the tails of his shirt from his trousers and Micheletto shuddered by the stimulation.  
  
“Hold it a little longer, my sweet assassin,” his fingers pinched hard a nipple.  
  
“I’ll try, Your Eminence.”  
  
Cesare ground his hips against Micheletto's crotch extorting and aching, panic-stricken moan that didn't prevent his hands to wander over the ecclesiastical robes, either to hold himself or to maximize his arousal. This man was _his_ , Cesare basked in that wicked thought; he could command even his most basic needs. That was an intoxicating belief, one who spurred him to hurt him a little more, twisting those little bits of meat in his chest, pressing his weight against that swollen belly, rubbing his pubic bone against that aching crotch.  
  
“Please,” Micheletto whispered, tethering on the border of his self-control, his legs spasming, his breath short, “I'm going to wet myself!”  
  
There it was: the begging. It took almost six hours but it came and Cesare relished every word, every wince.

“Better not to risk it on the papers of my office,” Cesare said, tearing himself from Micheletto's trembling form, “but you are to hold it a little longer.”  
  
Micheletto nodded frantically, it seems that his urgency came to him in waves, making him alternatively sick and panicky. Cesare let him wobble in his knees before driving him toward the balcony where the fresh air suited them better. Micheletto's urgency made him weak and he tottered toward the balustrade, his hands holding to the rail with the force of desperation.  
  
Cesare enjoyed to the sublime that wrecked body in the clutches of anguish, his hands crept under the sweated shirt of Micheletto, caressing his ribcage, his hip fitting the curve of his small and muscular ass to better enjoy the way he twisted his backside in order to tame his bladder.  
  
“Does it hurt, Micheletto?”  
  
“In too many ways, Your Eminence.”  
  
“Physically?”  
  
“Yes, hurts bad.”  
  
“In your pride?”  
  
“Only if I piddle myself.”  
  
“But that is not going to happen, isn't it?” Cesare kissed his nape.  
  
“I'm trying!”  
  
“Stand up tall,” Cesare commanded, his hands wandering down, “I want better access.”  
  
Micheletto obeyed, his hands hanging at his sides, granting his master complete reach to his family jewels: Cesare nuzzled his neck, and his hands tugged and unlaced the codpiece. Micheletto’s engorged manhood was caressed by the dying sun before Cesare wrapped his fingers around its extension; this little attention was received with a pained groan and some tensed up movements.  
  
“Just hold a little more,” Cesare cooed, polishing that rod with sensuous slowness.  
  
There was not a reply to that plea; every ounce of Micheletto's will was invested in regaining control of his body who tried to bend forward to help him ease this throbbing ache. Cesare kept with his ministrations, his eyes wandering on the internal patio, he cared not for the occasional eavesdropper. When, under his ever vigilant gaze, the moment turned propitious, Cesare stopped his caresses.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
Micheletto shook his head.  
  
“No? Too hard?”  
  
His nods were almost hysterical.  
  
“But I order you to relieve yourself.”  
  
A small whimper, an arched back, the tensed up abdomen... Cesare hugged his henchman, rubbing his solid member against that taut rear until a golden liquid arch advanced through the heated air of the Vatican. The relieved gasps of Micheletto mixed with Cesare’s moans of satisfaction as he soiled the inside of his shirt with the humid trace of his pleasure.  
  
The cardinal wished to have a moment to savor the pleasure but he had to buckle his knees and fell to the ground, dragging Micheletto with him whereas an angry voice let out a torrent of Spanish curse words. Micheletto stirred between his arms as he heard the giggling that scape his master's throat and his confused face redoubled Cesare's fun.  
  
“Your Eminence?”  
  
“My dear assassin, you just have pissed on the papal guard,” Cesare said, letting out another burst of silent laughing while stroking his pet’s hair, “and by the racket, I think you made a bull's-eye on the _gonfalonier_.”  
  
Micheletto let out a muffled laugh while Cesare found a better place against the wall, his arms folded around his henchman torso, his hands caressing his chest.  
  
“Sheer luck...”  
  
“Maybe,” Cesare answered, kissing his temple before letting his hands wander to Micheletto’s cock. “Let us finish this unattended affair...”


End file.
